


Blue Ribbon

by customuserhead



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cow Play, Dehumanization, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Humiliation, Lactation, Milking, Pregnancy Kink, Prostitution, girl!Jensen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:10:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/customuserhead/pseuds/customuserhead





	Blue Ribbon

** Pairing: ** JDM/girl!Jensen   
** Summary: ** ([kink request](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/89222.html?thread=34934150#t34934150))  Jensen is a college student with an infant, a student loan debt, a load of stress, and older lover who helps her out with her bills in exchange for cow play. She wears a little cow bell, crawls around and moos. He milks her udders into a metal pail and fantasizes about breeding her up with a calf.   
** Warnings: ** Dehumanization, cow play, lactation, milking, cock warming, humiliation, prostitution.

 

Jensen heard the ding of the text tone on her phone, but it was in the zipper pocket of her bag on the passenger seat. She ignored it. If it was an emergency about Sammy, her friend Danni would call. Anything else could wait.

She chewed her fingernail and made a list in her head – diapers, bread, yellow highlighter, mascara – as she took the exit ramp and checked the clock on the dashboard of her old Corolla. She had ten minutes. The gas gauge caught her eye. Damn it, the light was on. She’d have to get gas on the way home. At least she’d have some cash.

She stopped at red light and ran her fingers through the pixie cut she’d gotten just after Sammy was born. She loved it. She’d spent a lot of time on her hair when she was younger. Guys all seemed to prefer long hair, but when she’d gotten pregnant, where were the guys then? Where was Sammy’s dad? Fuck ‘em. She looked cute, and her hair took two minutes in the morning.

Traffic thinned when she got off the main highway, and she drove through winding well-planned streets with names like Sir Elden Way and Coachman Drive. They were lined with manicured lawns dominated by two-story houses with brick facades and tall arched windows. She pulled into the driveway of 2358 Lady Maudine Lane. There was absolutely nothing distinctive about the house. From the brass door-knocker to the pot of petunias beside it, there was nothing to suggest the strange odd of the man who lived inside.

Jensen grabbed her bag and checked her phone. There was a text reminding her that Danni had an English paper due the next day. Jensen sighed. One more thing to put on her list for that night since in exchange for babysitting, Jensen helped Danni with papers – or just did them herself in frustration. She may have gotten an A in ethics, but she was failing them in life.

She got out of the car and opened the trunk. Stuffing her keys into the pocket of her jeans, she tossed her bag in and grabbed a cleaning bin full of sprays and scrubs, brushes and dusters, and carried it to the door. Letting herself in, she set the bin in the foyer where she would retrieve it as she left. To the eyes of the neighborhood, she was the cleaning service. Only she and Mr. Morgan knew differently.

A spiral staircase rose to the second story and a brass, and crystal chandelier glittered above her. To her right was a powder room and to the left a formal living room with white carpet and slate-faced fireplace. She crossed the foyer to a short hall, which she could see led to the kitchen and lounge, but she stopped at a door in the hall. It led downward to the basement. The stairs were covered in industrial carpet and lit by a single incandescent bulb. At the bottom, a hallway ran the length of the house with three doors off each side. The first was a full bath. It was utilitarian with vinyl flooring and white fixtures. She went in and kicked off her sneakers before stripping off her t-shirt and jeans. She folded them and put them on a shelf above the commode. She slipped out of her panties and tossed them onto the pile.

She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Her breasts sagged. She had to practically peel the cups away from her skin. The nursing pads were damp. She had pumped the night before to leave milk with Danni and nursed Sammy that morning. She turned toward the mirror and hefted her breasts in her hands. They were heavy and achy.

She’d never had big breasts till she got pregnant. They’d barely been a B-cup with pale pink puffy nipples. The change had been disconcerting. They’d ached in a distracting way, a constant reminder even before she started to show that her body had been high-jacked. They’d demanded larger and larger bras, and guys had started paying them attention in a way she was completely unfamiliar with. It had felt creepy and wrong given the reason for the changes. She got hit on more and more in the first few months, and then less and less as her belly grew.

And then there was Morgan. Milk trickled over her fingers. Just thinking of his hands. She needed relief. It was weird, perverse, but harmless. She swiped the milk from her right nipple – no longer soft and petal pink but dusky and prominent. She licked her fingers. She stood up straight and sucked her belly in. It was still a little soft, but not bad. She was active, walked a lot on campus, and she was getting her figure back – well, from the waist down.

She took a collar from a wall hook and buckled it around her neck. A silver cowbell with the name ‘Bessie’ engraved on it hung from the black leather strap. Despite its size, it still clanged like a cowbell. It wasn’t pretty. It was functional. She wasn’t a pet in this game. She was livestock. She wasn’t getting paid for sex. She was getting paid for a product.

Her gaze met the green eyes in the mirror. “Keep telling yourself that,” she said.

She took a deep breath, let it out, and went into the hallway. The short-napped carpet was scratchy on her feet. Her navy toenail polish coordinated with the charcoal rug and dusty blue walls, she thought with a mental giggle that made her lips twitch. She got to the door at the far end of the hall, which was ajar, and dropped to her knees. She took a deep breath and let it slowly ease from her lungs. This was the hardest part, this little hill she had to push herself over each time.

She could get another job at a bookstore or coffee shop or the mall. There’d be no need to hide where she disappeared to or lie about where her money came from. But then she’d remind herself that a normal job would mean long hours on her feet, away from Sammy, without enough time for her homework.

She butted the door open with her head and crawled inside. Her aching breasts swayed beneath her, back and forth with each movement, back and forth. The little bell clanked in time with her sway. The cool air made her skin prickle, but heat rose up her neck right to the tips of her burning ears.

“There you are,” Morgan said. His voice was warm and husky – the kind of voice that in other circumstances would make her tingle. “Come on over here, Bess.”

He was sitting on a low three-legged stool. She crawled between his legs and rubbed her cheek against his groin. Nothing. Not yet. He gently pushed back on her shoulders.

“Steady, Bess,” he said. He lifted her chin. “How’s my little cow today?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes and parted her lips. She forced out a low _Moooo_.

He ran his fingers through her shorn locks. “Good girl. Easy, Bess.”

He released her chin, and she let her head hang a little. She stared at the toes of his worn work boots. He wore bib overalls with a fly at the front. He eased the zipper down and pulled his soft cock from the opening.

“Come on, girl,” he said. He hooked a finger under her collar and urged her forward. “Let’s give you some cud to chew.”

She moved forward, mouth open, and let him feed his soft cock between her lips. She took it in to the base. Her nose was pressed to the coarse hair of his groin, and his warm musky scent filled her nose. She swallowed, grounding herself with the soft flesh lying on her tongue.

“Yeah, good girl,” he said and patted her rump. There was a metallic clink as he removed the lid from the tin of balm and then the medicinal smell joined the scent of him. The raspy sound of his hands smoothing the balm over his skin was oddly calming.

He hadn’t seemed all that big when she met him, but like this, with her on her knees and him leaning over her, he was overwhelming. She heard the metal pail slide beneath her, and then his hands smoothed over her sides. His fingertips brushed along the outer curve of her breasts, and she shivered.

“Sh, hush, Bess. That’s a good cow.”

He leaned down farther. Her head was trapped beneath the arch of his abdomen. He weighed her breasts in his hands.

“You’re udder is damned full, isn’t it?” He squeezed slightly, and she let out a pained moo around his cock. He massaged the balm over her udder and teats till her skin felt slick and a little tacky. Her udder felt warm and tingly as her milk let down. He got as much of her udder in each of his big hands as he could before gently squeezing and pulling downward on the right with a tug on the teat.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured as he worked the left teat. The spray of milk hitting the metal bucket was loud in the silent room. “Yeah.” His cock began to fatten in her mouth.

He worked her teats back and forth, one and then the other, squeezing and tugging. She spread her knees for stability.

“Such a good cow,” he said. “Sweetest milk I’ve ever tasted. Nothing like it in coffee, on cereal. Bought a pint of strawberries today …”

Plink, went the milk into the pail. Squirt, plink. His hands were so big and warm, and with each squeeze and tug, electric sensations shot to her pussy. It was never like that nursing Sammy. Not at all. This was completely different. Sammy was her baby; she was a mommy. But in this, she was … no one. Her mind was clear – no shopping lists or bills or homework, just the feel of his hands and caress of his voice.

“Milk like this could win a blue ribbon at the fair,” he said. “How would that be, huh? Take you to the fair and show you off to the judges.”

The first time, she had crawled around the room in circles with her breasts swinging freely and the little bell clanking the first time with her head hanging and tears of humiliation in her eyes. That night she’d cried in bed and reminded herself that money would pay for the repairs on her Toyota. It was different now, almost therapeutic, these sessions, but the thought of being paraded before a panel of judges like livestock …  had nothing to do with why her pussy twitched and throbbed.

Still, his fingers squeezed and pulled. The plinking sound had ceased. The streams of milk were gushing into a pool of milk in the pail.

“Wish I’d had you as a heifer. Would have taken good care of you and that calf.” His cock was full hard, and she had to pull back for a breath on occasion, but she didn’t suck or lick. She just held it for him the way he liked. “Gonna breed you up again,” he said. “Put a prize-winning calf in you.”

_Keep dreaming_ , she thought. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Sammy. She did. She’d kill or die for her baby, but if she could do it over, she’d have waited till maybe never. Maybe, maybe not. It had never been a goal in her life. She’d never played with baby dolls or squeed over infants. When she first realized she was pregnant, she was in denial. Then, she’d thought abortion. She’d thought about it too long.

There were moments of joy and satisfaction, but motherhood wasn’t a joy. Not for her. She envied women who found it so. She cherished her baby, and would raise Sammy to be the best person she possibly could, but she wouldn’t have another. No way.

Precome trailed across her tongue as she took a breath through her nose. The squirts of milk were less strong, but his fingers continued milking her.

“Your next heat maybe,” he said. “Inseminate you. Yeah. You’re a proven breeder. Healthy, sturdy. You could carry a couple calves.”

She groaned around his cock and pussy juice dripped onto the floor. She couldn’t help imagining her swollen belly hanging beneath her as he milked her like this. He’d never fucked her, but he’d have to. He’d have to fuck her, put this big hard cock in her, fill her with come and calves. She had the urge to reach back and rub her clit, but his arms were bracketed around her.

He let go of her teats and moved the bucket aside. “Come here, cow,” he said and drew her off his cock. He pulled her up on her knees with his arm around her and sucked as much of her right teat into his mouth as he could. She moaned in pain and arousal. He grabbed his cock and began stripping it as he nursed on her. Within moments he was painting her belly with hot stripes of come. He released her teat from his mouth with a wet pop and leaned his forehead against her chest.

“Damn,” he whispered.

Her pussy was throbbing. She wanted to shove his face between her legs and ride it. She waited until he sat back and looked her over with a satisfied smile.

“Go ahead and get cleaned up,” he said.

That was it. The cue that the game was over. She got to her feet and walked back to the bathroom with cooling come on her skin. She used wet wipes to clean his jizz from her skin, splashed her face with water, and returned the collar to the hook on the wall. Her thighs were still wet with her slick and every movement was a reminder of how aroused she was. She leaned back against the vanity and thrust her fingers between her legs. She was so wet and slippery between the folds. Her clit was engorged and hard. She rubbed it fast picturing Morgan’s head trapped between her thighs, and came within seconds, trembling and gasping. Her knees nearly buckled.

When she caught her breath, she wiped the slick away with toilet paper and wiggled into her panties.

Her breasts ached in a whole knew way. He was never rough enough to bruise, but the skin was reddened with finger marks. Her breasts felt soft and empty. The fact that her breasts were still getting so full and heavy was a little unusual, but then she did do a lot pumping, nursing and milking. Her body seemed to be keeping up just fine. There was always plenty for everyone so she might as well take advantage.

She hefted them as she had earlier. She used to have such cute little tits, and now … these, these things, these organs of production. How quickly they’d changed in the past year and half or so. After all that milking, her nipples were ruddy and swollen. She wondered if her breasts would ever look anything like they had.

Shaking off the thoughts, she bent over to put her bra on, letting the mounds fall into the cups before hooking the back and adjusting the front when she stood. She slipped into her jeans and t-shirt. She put on her sneakers and, looking into the mirror, fluffed her hair.

She stepped into the hallway and nearly ran into Morgan. He was wearing dark jeans and a Henley. His feet were bare. He smiled and stepped back, motioning for her to precede him up the stairs. He turned the lights off behind them as she started up.

“You know, I know an attorney who handles private adoptions,” he said. “Adoptive parents pay all the medical and legal fees, plus ten thousand dollars for the mother’s housing and other expenses.”

Ten thousand dollars.

“Is that legal?” she asked. “Isn’t that like buying babies?”

“Life is full of loopholes,” he said. “We make it legal.”

Ten fucking thousand dollars. It wouldn’t come close to paying her student loans, but it would sure help.

She opened the door at the top of the stairs and took a right into the foyer. She picked up the cleaning supply bin as he took out his wallet.

“Think about it,” he said. He pulled out a few bills and stuffed them into the front pocket of her jeans.

She nodded. “I will. I’ll consider it.”

“Good.” He smiled, and  his dark eyes sparkled.

The evening was cool and breezy. She put the bin in the trunk and retrieved her bag. She almost shivered as she slid into the driver’s seat.

_“I’m not a prostitute,” she’d said._

_“No, that’s not what I’m suggesting,” he’d replied. “No intercourse. No ‘sexual’ contact. It’s just a game that I enjoy. A fantasy. You’d pretend to be a cow, I’d be the farmer.”_

_They were sitting at sidewalk café on the edge of campus. Sammy was two months old, and she had a stack of unpaid bills in her backpack._

_“Just a business deal that either of us can break at any time,” she’d said._

_“Absolutely,” he agreed._

_“So just … milking?” she’d asked._

_He nodded. “You produce plenty?”_

_“More than enough.” They felt uncomfortable at that moment._

_He shifted in his chair and blushed._

Of course, when he’d offered more if she’d just hold his cock in her mouth … well, she’d needed to buy books. He’d kept his word. He’d never come in her mouth. And now …

Ten thousand … and his cock … She squeezed her thighs together and fumbled the keys trying to get them into the ignition. His come filling her, putting a calf in her belly …  a _baby_ , but not her baby, not her responsibility. Pregnancy hadn’t been so bad really. Although, childbirth had been painful, traumatic even. She got the weird mental image of herself on all fours, mooing in pain, and Morgan there behind her helping the calf into the world.

She shook her head and backed the car from the drive. “I’m not a cow,” she mumbled as she started down the street. She spread her legs and pressed her fingers against the crotch of her jeans.

She wondered realistically how long Sammy would nurse. She’d read that there were kids who nursed till four years old. Would Morgan be into this game that long? Would he keep upping the ante?

She fought the urge to roll her hips. It wasn’t possible while driving, but her fingertips kept rubbing the fabric against her clit.

And where else was there to go with the game? A harness? A stall? A barn? On her knees in the hay, calf shifting in her round belly as Farmer Morgan milks her pendulous udder. Lightning exploded in her groin, and her fingers grinded down. She let out a low keen, and arched over the steering wheel, focused on keeping her head up, eyes on the road. Her foot slipped off the accelerator for a second. Her muscles clenched, pussy _twitching_ and pulsing in pleasure.

The car stayed in the lines and barely dipped below forty-five. She relaxed back in the seat. Her hand rose from her lap to breast. She rubbed the hard bump of her nipple through her shirt and bra.

“I’m not a cow.”

 

X END X


End file.
